


Chestnuts Roasting by an Open Fire

by greerwatson



Series: Christmas at the Clubhouse [24]
Category: RENAULT Mary - Works
Genre: Christmas Season - Twelfth Night, Gen, ITOWverse, Metafiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-05
Updated: 2010-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-21 09:53:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6047260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greerwatson/pseuds/greerwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Secretary and others seek refuge in the library from the frolics of Twelfth Night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chestnuts Roasting by an Open Fire

**Author's Note:**

> This story was posted originally to the [maryrenaultfics](http://maryrenaultfics.livejournal.com) LiveJournal community as a gift to the members for Christmas in 2009.

The Secretary slid off to the library in search of a little peace and quiet.  There was a door at the end which, she had found, led into a comfortable den where easy chairs and a squashy couch faced a cosy fireplace—one much smaller than the edifice in the ballroom, where the Yule log was still burning down.  True, there were still signs of Christmas in the room:  a spray of holly on the mantel and festoons of those multi-coloured English tissue-paper garlands.  Nevertheless, for the first time in hours, she had solitude.   _It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the party,_ she thought, _but it seemed to have continued in fits and starts for so very long.  However much she loved having the characters about—and she did, of course (_ of course, _she did)—there came a point when she wanted the house to herself again._  With guilty relief, she sat down with a fat book and a glass of the good stuff, and let the festivities go on without her.

She was not sure how long she had been there when the door opened, and Neil poked his head round.  “Ah, do you mind if we join you?” he asked, coming in with Ellen.  “Some of those pre-war actors have decided to demonstrate a bit of reciprocal merry-making.  They’ve resurrected medieval Twelfth Night custom, and elected Theodoros Lord of Misrule.  Right at the moment, it’s somewhere between charades and a pantomime out there.”  He grinned.  “The Greeks caught on right away.  You should have seen the look on Bagoas’s face when Alexander was instructed to crawl round the room, barking like a dog!” 

Actually, such _lèse majesté_ rather shocked the Secretary, too; but, womanfully, she concealed it.  Clearly, whatever the Persian reaction, Theodoros was not being hauled outside for summary impalement. 

The door pushed a little wider open, and Andrew came in.  “I found it,” he said, brandishing a pierced metal popper. 

“Oh, good!” said Ellen.

Tom followed, closing the door behind him.  Andrew crossed to the fire and knelt, took a small paper bag from Tom, and emptied chestnuts onto the hearth.  Taking out his pen knife, he began to slit them.


End file.
